


The Night We Met (and other things that worked out much better than they should've)

by Jemannesimms



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Halloween AU, WIP, flashback/forward, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemannesimms/pseuds/Jemannesimms
Summary: When Fitz and Simmons reminisce about the night they first met, they find that they don't quite remember it the same. A Meet-Ugly Costume Party AU. Tentatively rated PG.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adazzledim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adazzledim/gifts).



> This is a gift for @adazzledim on tumblr for FitzSimmons Secret Santa 2018!

The vibrant tones of La Vie En Rose echoed in the tiny space as the record scratched to life and Jemma moved from the stereo to the kitchen. 

“ _How...Hearts...Cannot...Speak_ ,” Fitz said quietly, lips pursed. 

Jemma didn’t mind the sound of that, to be honest, but it was his book. Even from the way he said it, she could tell he hated the name. 

“...A bit generic, maybe?” she suggested. 

“Yeah, to say the _least_ ,” he grumbled in reply, holding out the word least in emphasis.

“Well to be completely fair, you are literally using a book-title name generator you found on Google.”

“Eh? What about it?” Fitz looked up from his laptop screen, eyebrows raised. 

“Nothing about it, I’m only saying-”

“It’s a perfectly acceptable way to name something, isn’t it?-”

“Sure, if you consider-”

“If one can’t think of a name, I _think_ -”

“And I don’t necessarily disagree, but-”

“What about babies? People name their babies - their children! - off the internet all the bloody time, and you’re saying-”

“Try putting in my name!” She cut him off abruptly, but gently. 

Fitz sat precariously with his body stretching almost the length of the dining room table, his legs dangled sidesaddle off of the left side of his chair, and his head leaning on his hand on the exact opposite corner of the table. His hair, unwashed for at least two days, was mussed and fluffed to an absurd degree. His face was illuminated bright white by the screen of the laptop open in front of him. 

His eyes met hers for a minute, and with a sigh, he leaned over the computer again. 

“Born on-what, a Friday? That according to this, that means...Where.”

“Where is good!” she said. After swiftly flicking on the electric kettle she migrated to the mug cupboard to get them each a cup*. 

“First name starts with a J...They... Born in September-Could.” (

“Where They Could…” Jemma repeated. “Intriguing!” She said as she rifled through the old cookie tin they kept on the kitchen counter (its original inhabitants long eaten and the tin commandeered to contain nearly every kind of tea imaginable). “It’s mysterious and romant-”.

Fitz cut off Jemma’s thoughts with a sharp exhale that carried the same energy as a ‘damn’ or a ‘yikes’. 

“Not good?” she asked. It was a shame. It had sounded like a pretty good title so far.

“Come.” Fitz looked up at her, his face totally unreadable. 

She stopped and said the words back slowly. “Where They Could…”

“Come.” 

“Mmm...Right.”

“Square one?” He asked, clearly exasperated but still seemingly in good spirits, going back to the laptop again. 

“Square one,” she laughed, also returning to the task at hand. 

“Unfortunate.” He said, staring at the laptop screen again, typing something in. 

“ _Un-for-tun-ate…_ ”, she echoed quietly, smiling to herself. 

Fitz kept his eyes glued to the screen, but a sly smile edged its way across his face, copying hers. 

With a pleasant ding!, the toaster cheerfully offered up two pieces of toast, a bit over-dark. Jemma took a butter knife from the silverware drawer and began scratching away the most burned parts over the sink. She knew they should just get a new toaster, instead of sticking with one that couldn’t produce a perfect brown if the whole world depended on it, but she also knew that a new anything was a novelty in the Fitz-Simmons house; she had always been the ‘waste-not, want-not’ type, and Fitz was about a dozen penny-pinches away from plain miserly. 

“What about that name you told me on Halloween? I liked that one.”

“What, this Halloween? I didn’t-”

“No, no, last Halloween. The night we met.” 

“Right....Ugh, I can’t even say that name.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s cliche!” He sighed. 

“It’s romantic,” she countered. She placed the toast on two plates and balanced one on each hand, with a plate of butter nestled in the crook of her arm, and brought all of it to the table. 

“It’s not, but I appreciate your opinion,” Fitz responded earnestly, closing the laptop halfway and lifting himself up to kiss her cheek as she placed the plates on the table. 

Jemma sat down, lost in thought for a good minute, before asking; “You remember that, right?”

“What?”

“When we first met?” she clarified. 

“You wouldn’t be dating me if I didn’t, I assume,” he quipped, grinning. 

“Right. You know, you were so quiet, and...pasty…” She teased. 

“Pasty? Oh!” He shut the laptop with a feigned fury. 

“...And intelligent, and handsome!” Jemma giggled, playfully avoiding eye contact.

“And terrible at coming up with book titles, apparently.” He sighed, resting his head on top of the computer and closing his eyes. 

Jemma tilted her head in sympathy. “You’ll figure it out,” she reassured, briefly considering patting him on the head, but deciding against it. “We will”.


	2. Chapter 2

Her hands were freshly manicured, and her eyes over-made, bursting bright with a combination of deep purple shadow on her lids and white on the browline. Simmons didn’t usually care for heavy makeup, but what she did care for was that things were perfectly in order, so Halloween had always provided for her a head-on collision of her usual minimalistic nature and hard-core perfectionism. 

Tonight’s costume had taken hours to come up with, combined with hours of preparation, and even now, at the party, Jemma still found herself migrating to the bathroom to fix her makeup. She was dressed as Barbie, but, as a biting critique on stereotypical womens’ Halloween fashion (or so she imagined when she first came up with the idea), she wasn’t the generic ‘tiny pink dress and overdone doll makeup’ Barbie; she was dressed as Detective Barbie, accurately recreated piece-by-piece from an obscure 1998 PC game. This seemed, at its inception, to be a genius costume, but now that she actually had to wear it, the flaws in her plan were clearer. Not only was the costume, though technically accurate, unrecognizable as anything specific, but it was also a white turtleneck paired with a blonde wig and a heavy, belted, short black trench coat, which was maybe fine for being outside in, but much less fine when in a dorm packed wall-to-wall with other students and the heat blasted on high. 

Maybe this is why Simmons had spent the last 20 minutes in the safety of the women’s bathroom, where the heat was significantly lesser, and the social obligations were, frankly, nonexistent. Not as if she didn’t want to be at the party at all; she was already equipped with a drink (now resting rather precariously on the edge of the sink, along with her makeup bag), and she knew a lot of the people here, even if only through Daisy. She wasn’t quite sure, actually, why she was staying in here. _It’s the strange comfort of the bathroom,_ she supposed as she stared blankly at her reflection, picking at an eyelash. _I can control what happens here,_ she thought, which she knew wasn’t logically true at all, but why fight the feeling, right?   
She sighed as she began to collect her things, putting the makeup bag back into her messenger bag. _Can’t avoid it forever,_ she thought. The thumping of the party in the hall was dually enticing and terrifying, but she knew that if she spent any longer, Daisy would get worried and come looking for her, which would take her away from the party, which she’d worked so long and so hard on and- _Oh, god..._

Suddenly the bathroom seemed all too safe again.

She didn’t stop, though, slinging the bag across her shoulder and picking up her drink. Taking a deep breath, she stood by the door, building up the courage to open it. She was just reaching down to the handle when suddenly, it swung open on its own.

Except it wasn’t on its own. 

It was Fitz. 

Confusion was printed across his face, followed quickly by sudden realization as he looked past Simmons (who was frozen in a state of shock), to identify the pastel pink tile on the wall as definitely not belonging to the men’s room. He looked back down to Simmons, who was still staring at him wide-eyed, and they both just stood there, staring at each other speechless, for much longer than socially conventional. 

“I-I-I’m so sorry!” She finally managed to speak up, voice ripe with sheer panic.

“Ehhh...For what?” Fitz breathed, still going between looking at her and staring off behind her again. Jemma genuinely couldn’t tell if he was trying to play off the situation or if he was still shell-shocked. 

“Ah...your shirt-” She pointed meekly to his chest, causing Fitz to finally look down and notice what had happened. He had been wearing a nice white button-up and a sport jacket, but now the former had a bright red stain blossoming from it like a gunshot wound, and the remainder of Simmons’ drink was on the floor. 

“Aw, bloody hell…” Fitz started, looking around, still wide eyed. His hands wandered, as he first tried to rub the stain before realizing that questionable mixes of fruit punch and alcohol don’t just rub out. 

Meanwhile, Simmons had begun whispering “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” to herself as she turned to the paper towel dispenser, only see that it was empty. “I...eh...sssssshhhhhhiiiiii-” she continued to fumble as she essentially careened to the dispenser on the other side of the sinks. 

“-It’s fine, I just-” Fitz began, taking two steps inside the room, only to seemingly remember again that it was a girls bathroom. “Oh! Ok-ay,” he exclaimed. “Not gonna do that-” 

Meanwhile, Simmons was furiously waving her hands in front of the paper towel dispenser, trying to get it to work. “Nonononono...No!” her voice came out as a wheeze-cry hybrid, with an air of both frustration and utter terror. “This is not happening,” she muttered, giving up, grabbing the inch of towel sticking out of the dispenser and yanking off a hefty sheet. 

Fitz had seemingly heard her cries of despair, saying “Uh...pretty sure it is happe-oh-uh-okay...” This last bit, Jemma saw when she looked up, was inspired by a very drunk-looking girl stumbling past him at that moment, shoving him aside in the doorway, but taking no other notice of his presence. 

“Why are you still here?!” Jemma exclaimed, balling up the paper towel and using both hands to forcefully shove him out of the doorway, closing the bathroom door behind them, then practically pushing him through the maze of partying kids in the hall over to her dorm room two doors away. 

“What are we doing?” He asked, practically yelling over the music. 

“Going to my dorm.”

“Your dorm?”

“Yes, my dorm!” She chided. Although she still felt residual embarrassment from the whole situation, the shirt stain was, in a way, a godsend, as she found a strange sense of clarity in realizing that she now had a problem that she had to fix. 

“For...eh..for what?” 

“Do you _want_ to wear that shirt all night?”

“Uh...Right. Okay. Good,” Fitz started, either accepting his fate or deciding not to argue; one of the two.


	3. Chapter 3

“Wait a minute...did you know my name?” Fitz looked up quickly and suddenly shut his laptop again. 

Simmons was on the couch behind him, flipping through an old issue of National Geographic that had been sitting on their coffee table since they first moved in 4 months ago almost to the day. Her teacup was resting there as well, now half full. 

“...What?” She asked, squinting in confusion and begrudgingly shutting the article she was reading on the rise and fall of Grey Wolf populations in Yosemite Valley over the past century. 

“When we first met, didn’t you know my name already?” He clarified, this time turning in his chair to face her. “I distinctly remember you calling me Fitz at some point-”

“Nah. Don’t think so.” 

“Really?” 

“Okay, _well-_ ”

“Well?”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“Maybe?” Fitz asked amusedly. 

“Well, we were in the same physics class…You know...” She said slowly. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t even speak in that class. I made a point of it, you know that.” 

Fitz, several times, had told her the story of how the professor had incorrectly scored one of his tests the first week of class, and in some kind of protest, Fitz had refused to raise his hand in class. Nobody else had really noticed, but it was the intention that counted, he had insisted. 

“Yeah, well...Iiiiiiiii….” Jemma, now visibly flustered, held out the vowel longer than seemingly possible. 

“Simmons,” Fitz started, looking at her directly, with intensity, as if he were going to ask her for ‘the nuclear codes’. “Did you have a crush on me?”

“Me? Crush on you? Nahhhhhhhh… not-not at all.” She replied quickly, her cheeks bright red and her eyes refusing contact. “Well, now I do. Because, you know, boyfriend. But then? Back then? Pfftt, nooo…” She looked down vacantly and let out a breath. 

“So you did then?”

“Yeah, massively.” 

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Fitz mused, leaning his head on his hand. “Jemma Simmons had a crush on me.”

“You couldn’t tell?” She said with a laugh. “It was pretty obvious.” 

“Yeah, well, you brought me back to your room within five minutes of meeting me. I probably should’ve known.” 

\------------------  
“You know, it’s against school policy to bring a guy into a girls’ room.” Fitz said, walking in and admiring the room’s setup, divided into two sides almost perfectly down the middle; one perfectly neat, not a thing out of order, with a periodic table and a map of Sheffield on the wall, and the other covered in clothes, bed unmade, with a cluster of polaroids strung up with clothespins and twine. 

“Yeah, well it’s also against school policy to throw a raging Halloween bash in the dorm hallways, so I think we’re alright.” Simmons laughed, walking over to the desk on Daisy’s side of the room and placing a highlighter pen sitting next to an open textbook into its proper pencil cup. “Go ahead and raid that closet there,” she said, pointing to the one on the neat side. “Luckily for you I’ve kept at least one shirt from pretty much every boyfriend I’ve ever had.” She migrated from the desk to her bed and plopped down as Fitz obliged. 

“Wish my costume weren’t ruined,” Fitz grumbled, opening the closet and skimming his hand across the hangers. 

“You’re wearing a costume?” Simmons said with a laugh of disbelief. 

“Yes, I’m wearing a costume!” He replied incredulously. 

“What, ‘workaholic-father-of-five’?” she giggled. “It’s a suit, Fitz!” She said. A millisecond later, she realized that they hadn’t exchanged names yet, and, with a small gasp, covered her mouth in an attempt not to scream...or cry. Good job, idiot, she thought. 

Luckily, Fitz didn’t seem to realize she said anything wrong. “It’s Ken Jennings,” he started, turning to Simmons, pointing, squinting, and opening his mouth in an attempt to find a name, “...Girl from physics class…” 

“Jemma. Also, Jeopardy! Ken Jennings?” Simmons replied, trying to hide the relief in her voice that Fitz didn’t notice her gaffe. She wasn’t sure why she was possibly scared to let him know that she already knew him (or, at least, of him), but she was. 

“Jemma!” He then pointed to himself, saying “Fitz,” as if it was an off-handed remark. “And yes!” He said, turning back around and grumbling to himself, “It was quite clever at the time.” He picked out a white shirt similar to his own in style, but clearly too big for even him.

“From my jock phase,” Simmons explained, placing her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her hands. 

Fitz raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth from Simmons to the shirt for a moment, possibly trying to conceptualize her in her jock phase. Then he flew back into action, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. Jemma looked away upon instinct ( _once again, without any reason,_ she thought. What was it with this guy that made her so socially inept?) 

“So, ah-” She began, pretending to be occupied with the settings on her alarm clock. “What...brings you here?”

“I live here.” Fitz said, an implied ‘duh’ punctuating the statement. 

“Yeah, but why were you at the party?” Simmons replied, rolling her eyes. “You don’t seem like the partygoing type.” He was always so quiet in class. She had seen how hard he was always focusing on his homework, how quickly he’d finish exams, how impressed the professors would seem when going over his work. He had seemed like her, and she wasn’t really the partygoing type, either. Maybe this was what first had drawn her to him...it had started as envy, or something of that complexion, but as the semester had gone on, it twisted into admiration, and eventually she couldn’t help but notice his round jaw, his mussed hair and the slight smile he’d allow, every once and awhile, to crack through his eternally-grumpy exterior…

“Oi!” He said, snapping her back to the present, and she jumped. “What size was this guy?”

Jemma had been staring at her alarm clock intently for who knows how long. Fitz was now dressed, jacket on and shirt tucked into his pants in a precarious way, not for lack of trying as much as for overflow of fabric. 

“He was a football player.”

“Football players aren’t this massive.”

“American football.”

“...Oh.” 

Pushing herself off the bed, Jemma clapped her hands awkwardly. “Well then! Are we...good?”

Fitz took a sharp breath and let it out, nodding. “Yeah. Yes. Sure. Good.” 

They both made towards the door at the same time. After a strange, awkward two-step where both tried to step out of each others’ way at the same time, Fitz opened the door and gestured for Jemma to leave. 

The two of them had barely even closed the door when Jemma nearly bumped into another girl, a good 3 inches taller than her (thanks to her stiletto boots), decked out in a pirate costume that was somehow the perfect blend of practical and costumey, realistic and over-the-top. 

“Jemma! Jeez, you were gonna make me look for you all night?” Daisy laughed. 

“Yeah, ah…” She started, not knowing exactly what to say.

“What, were you hiding in the bathroom again?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here-you almost missed the main event!”

“The party...isn’t the main event?”

“Yeah, no! Sorry I didn’t tell you. I kind of wanted it to be a surprise for everyone! I’ve just sent everyone else off with their partners but we can find you someone-” She motioned to Fitz, who was half in, half out of the conversation circle, saying “Hey! Guy! You available?” As if this could’ve been easily misconstrued, she paused, then added: “Not to date, although she’s single, if you really want.” She presented Jemma to him with her hands, Vanna White style. 

“Eh-what?” Fitz (who had been trying to pretend to be occupied,) turned and stammered, his eyes filled with terror. 

“Um, Daisy?” Simmons grabbed her arm and pulled her slightly aside. “What is this for?” She whispered harshly.

“The escape room!”

“Escape room?” Simmons echoed. She had heard Daisy talk a lot about plans for this party over the last month but she had never even vaguely heard about this.

“Yeah! Except, the whole campus is the room, and it’s less of an escape situation then it is a win sit-”

“Escape room?” Fitz interrupted as if he had only now heard the words, clearly intrigued by the idea, but also still mortified. 

“Partner’s escape room,” Daisy corrected, “And, Jemma, you have to participate because I worked really hard on this and I’m actually not sure anyone else can solve it…”

“Uh-” Jemma attempted to interject, with no results. 

“Yeah, I made the clues really hard,” Daisy smiled proudly. “Anyway; kid! What’s your name?” She indicated to Fitz again, calling him 'kid' without hesitation, even though he was at least a year older than her. 

“Fitz,” he said.

“Okay...Fitz…” She said, as if trying the name on for size, “You guys both missed the game announcement, meaning you’re pretty much the only other person left without a partner. Soooo...Do you want to play a game?” she asked, lowering her voice into a gravelly impression of Jigsaw. 

_Please say no, please say no, please say no…oh my God, please say no..._

“Ehh… sure?” 

In seconds, Daisy had shoved a piece of paper into Jemma’s hand. “Awesome! Fantastic. Here’s your first clue, then; you two go have fun!” She gave them both of them a generous pat on the shoulder, and buzzed off right past them. 

Still shocked, staring off in Daisy’s direction, Simmons tried to stay cool as she said “Well...Alright…Let’s...see about this first clue then?” She turned to see Fitz right behind her shoulder.

“In a minute,” Fitz replied. 

“Why?”

“You think I was popping into the loo for fun?”


	4. Chapter 4

Fitz and Simmons’ conversation had quickly evolved into the both of them retelling, verbatim, their experiences from that night. Fitz’s laptop (and, by proxy, his book title,) were lying on the table, long forgotten. 

“You didn’t want me to play?” Fitz asked in disbelief. 

“It’s not that I didn’t want, per se...It was just...it was...weird?” Jemma replied, both wincing and shrugging. “I mean, you were in the ladies’, my drink was all over your shirt, then you were wearing my shirt…”

“Milton’s shirt, you mean-”

“ _My_ shirt,” She corrected him, then continued. “It was just...a lot to deal with!”

“Nah,” Fitz grinned, ear-to-ear. “You were just jealous.”

“Jealous?” She repeated, a joking tone in her voice but genuine surprise on her face. 

“Yeah, I mean you said it yourself, you thought I was smarter than you-” He shrugged. 

“What? Wait, wait, I never said smarter-”

“You didn’t?-”

“No, I wouldn’t have-” Jemma paused, suddenly realizing and reassessing her word choice, but it was a bit late for that.

“Oh. Alright. My mistake.” Fitz said quietly, subdued. 

“I don’t mean it like that, Fitz!” She said with a gentle laugh, trying to play off the situation. 

“No, no, it’s fine! I-I didn’t think you did.” He shook his head. “Just-eh…get back to the story, right? We’re just getting to the good part.” He shifted in his seat like a kid about to hear a campfire tale.

“Right...right!” She nodded.   
\--------  
Fitz practically slammed her against the wall. Despite this force, he was surprisingly gentle as his fingers traced her jawline, finally resting on her chin. He pulled her in and kissed her, softly, and she responded in like. Her left palm pressed against the wall, pushing her closer to him, and she felt the coolness of the bathroom tiles seep into her fingers. It felt like all of her body was going between feeling totally numb and feeling everything at once, in an addictive pulsation. At some point, her fingers had ended up in his hair, and now, as feeling came back again, she felt how soft it was. The hand that wasn’t against the wall, almost with a mind of it’s own, ran through it a few times, then migrated to his face, rough with unruly patches of stubble. Her eyes had been closed, but now she opened them to look up at him in expectation, as her hands now moved down to the top button of his shirt (her shirt, as the thought briefly occured). He raised his eyebrows, but wordlessly did the same , reaching down to the shoulders of her coat. Both hesitated for just a second before, perfectly in sync, practically _ripping-_

“Wait a minute!” Fitz said. “You’re skipping a good third of the story, right?” 

“What? No I’m not!” Simmons protested. “We started the hunt, we snogged in the bathroom.” She mumbled, shrugging.

“Yes, you bloody well are,” He said. “What about all the clues? And the solving of said clues? It’s the best part, Jemma.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” He said, firmly.

“Alright, then. Where _should_ I start?”

“First clue.”

Puckering her lips slightly, Jemma nodded. “First clue,” she conceded.


	5. Chapter 5

1\. No Googling.  
2\. No skipping ahead.  
3\. If you’re really stuck, Daisy will give one hint to each team.   
4\. NO. GOOGLING. (Hunter!)  
5\. No asking Jemma Simmons.

“Quite a list of rules your friend has here,” Fitz said, holding the list close to his face and squinting at it in the low light. They were sitting on the first floor of the dorm building in the common area. For the most part, the party was contained to the hallways of the upper floors, but a few stragglers had come all the way down to this area. Red Solo cups were scattered in random places, a few groups were sitting (or sleeping) at tables, wasted out of their minds, and a few couples were making out in the dark corners of the room. As Fitz went over the rules list, Simmons was scanning the first clue; Neatly written in typewriter font on a piece of paper, seemingly hand cut.

“Got anything on the clue?” Fitz asked, tucking the rule list into his jacket pocket. 

“I don’t know... Have you read Dante?” She asked, passing the paper over to him. 

“What, _Divine Comedy?_ ” He said as he received the clue. “Twas Hell, Ms.” He read aloud.

“Yeah. The use of ‘twas’ makes me think it’s referring to an old text, and the ‘hell’ part...you know, Inferno…” 

“Well, what about the ‘Ms.’ part?” 

“Any famous ladies in _Inferno_?” 

“Probably. A good third of the book was essentially the equivalent of Dante roasting every famous person who was alive back then.” 

“Right, well, that’s not helpful.”

“Sorry, that’s the best I got there.” He took the paper and scanned the words intently. 

“Okay, well maybe I can call professor Vaughn and ask?” Simmons said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her phone. 

“Yeah...or..." Fitz said, still staring at the paper. 

Simmons was already halfway through dialing, but she stopped short when he said this. “Or?” She said.

"Could be an anagram."

"An anagram?"

“An anagram. You know, the letters are all re-”

“Yes, I _know_ what an anagram is.” She said, grabbing a corner of the paper to indicate that she wanted to see it. Fitz ceded it to her. 

“Alright, then...anagram.” She whispered to herself, looking over the paper again, then reaching into her bag and getting out a pen. 

“It’s gonna be one bastard to decode, though,” Fitz shook his head. “There could be a million combinations, and multiple that could make sens-”

“Got it,” Simmons said, passing the paper back to him. All the typed letters were now crossed out and under them, in Jemma’s tidy handwriting, was the phrase 'What Smells.'

Fitz stared at her in shock, then looked back at the paper. “Alright,” He said, with a hint of a laugh in his voice. “So... what does smell? A dog?”

“No...It's probably the paper,” she said, holding the clue up to her nose, then doing the same for Fitz. 

“Lemons.” Fitz said, looking at her. 

“And if it’s lemons, that means…” 

“That Deke’s been to Daisy’s room recently?” Fitz grinned. 

“That we need a lamp.” Jemma finished her own sentence, but smiled in appreciation of Fitz’s joke. 

“Right-” Fitz said, surveying the room, then swiping the clue from off the table and bringing it to a lamp by the corner. He flicked it on, then held the clue up to the bulb. Jemma followed behind, crouching down to look under the lampshade. As she had suspected, writing began to appear in a warm brown shade on the upper left corner of the clue. 

“Library. Entrance. Left, Right, Left, Left. Third Shelf. Page 201.” She read. Both she and Fitz looked at each other at the same time with raised brows. 

“The game is afoot, Watson,” Jemma said, beaming. 

“See, I was just about to say that-” Fitz began, but Jemma had already bolted off. With a sigh, he followed behind.


End file.
